Liars / KaitO

ULU, London, UK: 16 March 2006

While the rest of the music world temporarily relocated to Austin, Texas, Liars, in a rather fitting move, elected to forego the week's festivities to complete their own European tour. Since their spasmodic post-punk debut in 2001, Liars have seemed perfectly content to watch the parade pass them by-- or perhaps more precisely, to run deliberately in the opposite direction. On their much-derided sophomore outing, They Were Wrong, So We Drowned, the band's solipsism branded them willing pariahs-- cast out by their own glowering pretension. And Drum's Not Dead, the band's audacious, strenuously striving new record, affirms Liars' commitment to march to no beat but their own. They are clearly contenders no more.

It's the fierce insularity of these recent recordings that makes the prospect of a Liars show so daunting. One fears finding a band so enamored of the creative process that it forgets that the fourth wall has been removed-- that several hundred have braved the London frost to see a performance, not an open studio session.

In striking contrast to Liars' complex, dyspeptic sound, this London show took place at a rather unassuming, eminently comfortable venue known as the ULU. It's supposedly connected to a University campus, but the rubber-matted stairs were more reminiscent of high school. The feeling was amplified by the concert hall itself, which looked like something out of the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" video with its dull wood floorboards and a stage that seemed ready for an impromptu talent show, not a rock band.

At the time of our arrival, KaitO was already a song or two into their set, displaying flashes of Elastica's sharpened, melodic brevity that, at least based on the reception that night, is sorely missed here in the UK. Live, KaitO was far more incisive and biting than the padded bluntness of most recent release, 2003's Band Red, suggested. Guitarist Dave Lake coaxed all manner of squawks and squeals from his guitar-- so many high-register notes issue that one wondered if the top two strings were merely decorative. The metallic tones occasionally flirted with disaster, but unlike Sonic Youth, another one of their obvious influences, KaitO only skirted the harsh outer fringes and rarely breached them, keeping their cacophonous impulses tethered to the songs. A trip to the merch table turned up no new recorded material since the underwhelming Band Red. Too bad. On the strength of tonight's set, KaitO's earlier transgressions were easily forgiven.

Unlike KaitO, Liars' songs did not always boast identifiable beginnings, middles, and ends. Their thin, delicate membranes were pierced over and over, often until they bursted. Fortunately, the uncommonly tall Aussie, Angus Andrew, commanded attention even when the music threatened to drown in a morass of drumming, distended notes, and possessed shrieking. He stalked the stage-- part Frankenstein, the rest raving paranoid. Sometimes he preferred to stand in the corner, wildly gesturing at his two bandmates as if he were conducting a full orchestra. The expressions of saucer-eyed bewilderment in the audience said it all: it was hard to know what to make of his antics, but he was an undeniably compelling performer.

Andrew even acknowledged the audience every now and then-- cupping his ear to gauge reactions, feigning a British accent to introduce a song, and, bizarrely, thanking the University for allowing their leotard-outfitted drummer to use the pool. Only when Andrew was forced to don a guitar, which sadly was not so rare an occurrence, did his amusing behavior sometimes give way to an almost catatonic attentiveness to the music-- as the band seemed to retract their songs infinitely inward. Still, at the very least, Andrew and the rest of the band showed the fears of insufferable arrogance to be vastly overstated, even if not entirely unfounded.

Much has been made of the Dadaist mindset on display throughout both Drowned and Drum-- the wanton disregard for the listener embedded in their sonic patchworks. However, in a live setting, Liars gave the impression not so much of a band guided by contempt for its audience but rather by genuine indifference. To those who would reflexively dismiss the band, perhaps this is a meaningless distinction. But for those tempted by Drum's primitive dissonance and determined to uncover its secrets, maybe Liars are not sending them on such a fool's errand after all.